


Service and Morale

by Ponderosa



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Armpit Licking, BDSM, Banter, Blow Jobs, Canon Character of Color, Cock Worship, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Service Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderosa/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight months isn’t enough time to even patch up the holes that’d appeared when funding originally started diverting to the fucking Coastal Wall, let alone maintain a reasonable line of defense. Stacker seemed sure he could make it work, but a handful of Jaegers and only one ‘dome left operational? The knot that’s been living in Herc’s stomach since the Mark 4s started dropping left and right grows a little tighter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Service and Morale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brodinsons (aeon_entwined)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/gifts).



Herc changes out of his dress blues like they’re on fire. The program’s been over a barrel for more than a year now, and an eight month reprieve is a joke. Eight months isn’t enough time to even patch up the holes that’d appeared when funding originally started diverting to the fucking Coastal Wall, let alone maintain a reasonable line of defense. Stacker seemed sure he could make it work, but a handful of Jaegers and only one ‘dome left operational? The knot that’s been living in Herc’s stomach since the Mark 4s started dropping left and right grows a little tighter.

He yanks on his boots and grabs his coat, intending to go straight to the club and throw back a few. A knock at the door stops him short, the sharp rap immediately identifiable.

“Marshal,” he says, opening the hatch. He stands a little taller as Stacker’s gaze jumps to the jacket in his hand.

“Guest quarters aren’t the nicest these days,” Stacker says, as if the Icebox was any different than the rest of the ‘domes around the world. The running joke puts a slight smile on Herc’s face anyway. Stacker’s gaze slides past him. “If you’re not in a hurry, do you mind?”

“Come on in.” Herc throws his coat back on an empty table tucked against the blank wall. By his estimation, Stacker should’ve been calling in favors and pulling strings for hours to come, but it’s a welcome change in plans. They didn’t see enough of each other these days--rank and responsibility and all that bullshit. Herc sizes him up as he crosses the threshold; his posture speaks volumes. “How’re you feeling?”

“Pissed off. More than a little bit disappointed. Nervous, I suppose, same as you.” Stacker shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it carefully on the back of a chair. He starts undoing the cuffs of his shirt. “But mostly: tired.”

“Oh how I’ve missed your boundless optimism,” Herc says. He steps in, knocking Stacker’s hands away from his tie to loosen the knot himself. The silk runs like liquid through his fingers as he straightens the wrinkles left from holding a perfect Windsor all day. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes it has.” 

“So hands at your side, then--don’t be sloppy,” Herc says, and it’s Stacker’s turn to straighten up. He undoes the button snug at Stacker’s throat, and catches and holds his gaze while running a finger down Stacker’s chest to find the second button and free it. As button after button comes undone, the effect on him is clear: a little bit of armor is pulled away each time, the tension around his eyes easing as his focus narrows. It’s always tough for Herc to hold someone’s gaze in this context for so long, especially a man like Stacker, but the connection that builds is a lot like a handshake. Drifting is about trust and so is this, and when it comes down to it Herc doesn’t trust anyone more than the man in front of him.

A quiet, appreciative sound escapes his throat as he untucks Stacker’s shirt and puts his palms to bare skin. Muscle flexes under his hands as Stacker presses hungrily into the touch. They’d been fucking off and on for well over a decade, and even if Stacker had been kicked into deskwork for the past seven--or, Christ, has it been eight?--years, he's still built like a Jaeger. “How do you want this to go?” Herc asks. His fingers hook into the front of Stacker’s belt to tug him a step closer. There's no resistance in him, so odds are he's not spoiling for a beating or to play the shy schoolboy. “Feel like tidying up this lousy shithole you’ve stuck me in, or are you looking for some dick to suck?”

Stacker’s tongue flirts at the corner of his mouth as he breaks Herc’s gaze to survey the room. Sparse as it is, there’s really not much in the place that needs tidying, but there are a lot of dirty corners and a toothbrush in Herc’s kit. If crawling around for a while with some menial task to clear his head is what Stacker needs right now, they can make it work. A sizzle of lust gets Herc low in the belly when Stacker widens his stance, hands falling behind him in parade rest. His shirt begins to slip off one shoulder, baring more of his chest and its mapwork of thin scars. “I’m not in the mood for anything rough,” he says, clearly thinking his way through the rest of the night. The way he wets his lips says everything before he continues with: “But a proper taste of your gorgeous cock sounds about the right speed.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Herc admits. He was a little thick in his shorts already at just the prospect, and knowing for sure that sweet mouth was going to be on his dick gets him filling out enough that it’s obvious.

Casually he flicks Stacker's shirt off his other shoulder. There's another row of names inked between the scars lining Stacker's ribs; Herc has seen the reports, but written on skin it's damning to see so many Rangers have fallen in the months since the last time they stood in front of all the suits. He traces a touch over them briefly to acknowledge them, the scars and the fallen alike.

"So this is how it's going to go," Herc says, laying out the usual ground rules and making sure Stacker is fine with humiliation being off the table. His hands travel up Stacker’s front, where the scatter of tight dark curls prickles against his palms. A little bit more of that armor drops away as his touch slides over the broad span of Stacker’s shoulders. Desire writes itself more plainly in the shape of Stacker’s mouth as Herc settles his grip on the column of Stacker’s throat, thumbs tucked up against the soft vulnerable space beneath his jaw. There's no effort now in holding Stacker’s gaze with his own; his senses have sharpened, his own world narrowed down to the man in front of him and his needs.

“Stay put,” Herc says, waiting for Stacker’s nod before he moves away. He hauls the thin, standard-issue mattress from the sleeping alcove and drops it on the floor. Stacker doesn’t flinch or blink at the sound it makes hitting the concrete, and for a second Herc wishes Stacker had been looking for something a little harder. He’s remarkable when he’s pushed to his very limits by sharp commands and a boot at his throat.

Herc seats himself on the flat slab and nudges the mattress into place with a foot. The chill of the stone creeps into his legs and it’s as familiar to him as the shape of the room, rubber stamped as it is around the whole pacific theatre. “Take off your shoes and socks, leave your shirt on the chair and c’mere,” Herc says. He props his hands on his thighs, the sprawl of his knees leaving plenty of room for Stacker to kneel between them when he’s barefoot and barechested.

“Come to me on your knees, hands optional.” Herc rubs himself through his pants as Stacker goes down on one knee before the other, his hands folding behind his back as he inches closer, dropping forward to prowl on his hands the last couple of feet. The flex of his muscles is mesmerizing; it gets to Herc just about the same as the first time Stacker asked to be put in his place.

“You’re not going to make me beg, are you?” Stacker wears a cocky smile, the kind Herc feels privileged to receive. He used to see them a lot more often, back in the days when Stacker shadowed Tamsin and win after win meant late nights in wild cities. He traces a thumb over the slant of Stacker’s mouth and the heat in his gaze chases away the ache of knowing they’d ended up on the losing team.

“Wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to.” Herc’s sitting good and thick in his shorts now, a fresh surge of blood going south and fattening him up more when Stacker’s tongue flashes over his lip--a pink, wet promise. “But I’m more keen to feed you my dick than I am to hear you rattle on about it.”

A visible shiver goes through Stacker and Herc makes a tally in the mental log he keeps of how many times Stacker Pentecost gets the quivers from a casual bit of dirty talk.

“You can see me getting hard just thinking about it,” Herc says.

Stacker sits back on his heels, spine going straight, breath drawn in through his nose and out through his mouth. He’s tenting his slacks but with that simple exhale everything else about him says he’s calm and waiting. For the months when Lucky Seven had been on loan to Tokyo, Herc used to rib him endlessly about that samurai shit, but if he’d admired Stacker’s composure then, he fucking worships it now. He treats himself to the picture Stacker presents, and to the heady knowledge that he’d wait for hours like that if he was in the right sort of mind. It gets Herc’s skin itching and he takes a calming breath of his own.

The jingle of his belt is loud as he undoes it one-handed, the other still lightly tracing the outline of his cock, working it up to be nice and fat when he pulls it free, lets it hang heavy over the open vee of his fly. He slides his belt from the loops and holds it slack before casting it over Stacker’s head, the leather settling behind his neck. “You’re going to start with no hands,” Herc says, tugging the ends of the belt to draw Stacker close again. “And you’re going to get me nice and wet. Wet enough that I could flip you over and pound your pretty arse if I wanted.”

“Been aching for it, I reckon. How long’s it been since you’ve had a piece of my arse instead of the other way ‘round?” Stacker says, earning himself a tug on the belt when he tries to land a bite on the inside of Herc’s knee.

"Not so long that I’ve forgotten the sounds you make when you’re getting dicked good and hard.” Herc switches his grip to hold the belt in one hand--a makeshift collar that tightens around Stacker’s throat--and reaches down to scrape his nails across Stacker’s chest. The sharp, swift intake of breath makes Herc’s dick twitch and he spreads his thighs even further. “Now are you ready for that taste?"

The flex of muscle at Stacker’s jaw betrays the effort it takes him not to lick his lips. "Yessir,” he murmurs, gaze falling right to the prize.

“Get on it, then,” Herc says, and manages to keep hold on the belt for all of ten seconds. It clatters to the floor the moment Stacker’s lips close around the head of his dick, stretching it to its full length while sucking lightly, all pressure and little tongue. He goes from thick to hard in Stacker’s hot mouth, and it’s only once he’s flushed dark and throbbing that Stacker pulls off and drags a sloppy lick from root to tip.

“Now there’s a good little soldier,” Stacker says, catching Herc’s dick again with his mouth and letting it loose to smack wet against Herc’s belly.

“Little? I think I heard that wrong, mate,” Herc replies, fighting a laugh. He hooks his thumbs into his pants to shove them down his hips, and fists the base of his cock like a challenge. A surge of blood darkens it further, sharpening the contrast with his fingers. He shares a grin with Stacker and lifts an eyebrow as he gives his dick a shake. “Try again.”

“No disrespect,” Stacker says, mouth close enough that his breath is a warm tease. “Of course I meant big--” His tongue glistens as he runs it over Herc’s knuckles, over the head of Herc’s cock, the frustrating lack of friction dragging a groan into the air. “Huge, even. Thick enough to choke a man, isn’t it.” Stacker’s teasing tone starts to fade into something rougher and hungrier and he swallows Herc again, mouth sliding down to where Herc’s grip is tight and desperate.

It’s a struggle to not lever his hips up, to keep his hand where it is and not let Stacker just take him whole. It’s always a struggle to not lose himself completely where Stacker is concerned.

Breaking the steady bobbing rhythm of his head, Stacker pulls off to say, “I fucking love your gorgeous cock,” and the way he looks up with his dark eyes so heavy it gets Herc’s insides all twisted up. When his eyes slip shut, no furrows in his brow as he starts up again, something kicks hard alongside the thump of Herc’s heart. 

Between one breath and the next he’s underwater, struggling for each inhale as Stacker keeps it slow at first, licking every bare inch of cock he can and then sucking it dry. “Love it,” Stacker repeats, rubbing his face around like a goddamn cat. “I want to walk out of here smelling like you--” Spit drips down over Herc’s hand, flattened now around the base of his dick, fingers curled over his balls and squeezing. The ache is hardly a distraction from the pleasure zinging up his spine. “--tasting like you.”

It takes only a touch and a single word to get Stacker to shift his attention, to run his tongue along the skin stretched thin and fragile between the spread of Herc’s fingers. It tickles slightly as the point of Stacker’s tongue traces the webs between his fingers one by one, following the outline of each before asking for the privilege of tasting more.

“You may.” Herc clears his throat as he moves his hand away from his balls, but everything else he wants to say gets pushed aside by a hard groan. Stacker wastes no time sucking Herc’s balls into his mouth, skin of Herc’s sac held light between his teeth after one and then the other slips free. Stacker mouths hungrily at where they hang, licking and sucking and finally drawing as much loose skin as he can into his mouth, head tipping back, and his lips going tight. He tugs hard enough to make Herc gasp in way that’s a lot more familiar when Herc’s the one down on his knees. “Christ,” he breathes, the pound of his pulse in his skull making him dizzy.

Stacker soothes the pain with soft lapping licks, then drops a sucking kiss at the crease of Herc’s thigh, face turning to press against the crinkle of short hair. A shiver ripples visibly across his shoulders, and Herc slides his palm tenderly over Stacker’s cheek, the light scrape of a five o’clock shadow there sending its own delicious shiver up his arm. He cradles Stacker’s face, the both of them sitting motionless for a long moment.

“You alright?”

“Better than.” The words are muffled against Herc’s skin. Pressing a fraction closer, Stacker draws in a full lungful of air, a sound more raw than a sigh riding the exhale.

Herc gives Stacker another moment before hooking fingers under his chin. “Look at me,” he says, keeping the command soft, and rewarding Stacker with a smile when his head lifts and his gaze follows. “You did so well sucking my cock just as I’d asked. I’d like to put your hands to use. Can you sit back on your heels for me, beautiful?”

Stacker peels himself away from Herc with visible effort, regaining a shred of composure as he settles back, his slacks pulled tight on his thighs and his cock outlined sharply under the fine wool.

“Thank you,” Herc says, and the heat in his chest when Stacker looks so very grateful suffuses his body, makes him both extremely proud and really fucking turned on. ”I’m going to put my boot on your chest.”

He moves with deliberate carefulness, putting as much effort into fulfilling his role as Stacker is. He leans back, hands bracing behind him as he draws his knee up smoothly to lay the sole of his boot on Stacker’s chest, avoiding anything rough as agreed to: no grind of the heel to rub over his tit, no force to make him fight for balance.

“One buckle at a time,” Herc says. “And you’ll ask me for each one.”

Stacker shakes his hands out and holds them hovering near Herc’s knee. Heat pours from his palms as he asks, “May I begin?”

Herc nods, and his eyes go heavy when Stacker’s hands slide down from his knee to the top of his boots, fingertips caressing the leather just as lovingly as his tongue had serviced Herc’s cock. When the first buckle comes loose, he puts his hands back in place at Herc’s knee and asks permission to continue. Again and again it’s the hot slide of strong hands, the jingle and tug of leather and metal, building up to the almost excruciating pleasure of clever fingers sliding under the loose shaft of the boot and holding his calf as he tells Stacker to place the boot to the side. He places his socked foot back on Stacker’s chest, toes digging in just under the sweep of Stacker’s collarbone, not hard enough to cause pain but enough to make Stacker sway slightly.

“Now the other,” Herc says, his foot dropping down to skim briefly across the top of Stacker’s leg before bracing his weight to bring his other boot into place and start the routine all over again. Each touch is so simple on the surface, basic in its mechanics, but this round more than the first gets Herc’s heart kicking hard behind his ribs as each buckle comes undone.

When his leg is freed and both boots are propped up to stand neatly side by side, his whole body has grown tense from anticipation. The tension runs deeper than lust, for a long time now he’s been a spring wound too tight. Herc rolls his neck before dragging a foot up the inside of Stacker’s thigh, and idly rubbing the bulge of his cock. “It’s been a long day,” Herc says. It’s been a long year if he’s being honest, but he holds that on his tongue.

“Is that your way of asking for a foot rub?”

Herc slings a grin and gives Stacker’s cock another little nudge, watching the way his breath stops for a moment. “It is.”

“Socks on or off?”

“Off. You can roll them and put them with my boots. Unless you want one of them shoved into your mouth.”

The corner of Stacker’s mouth quirks into a smile to mirror Herc’s. “Dirty fucker,” he says with fondness. He catches Herc’s heel and pulls off the sock, still grinning as he very neatly rolls it up. “And that’s your way of saying it’s been ages since I’ve shoved something nasty into your mouth and made you howl through it, isn’t it?”

“Could be.”

With a quiet chuckle, Stacker digs his thumb into the arch of Herc’s foot, hard the way he knows Herc likes it, bones shifting as he works at pressure points. The tension drains out of Herc in fits, muscles twitching as his body remembers how to be relaxed. Stacker’s gotten him all worked up, but it’s more than just the anticipatory desire to bury his cock back into something warm and wet that calms under Stacker’s hands--that knot in his stomach loosens a little further, the pull against his jaw eases, and there’s a heaviness that has nothing to do with the weight of the world in him when he sighs and tells Stacker he can stop. Stacker's eyes are slow to open.

"Give me your hands," Herc says, holding his own out, palms up. Stacker’s fingers are hot in his and Herc gathers them tightly and pulls him forward. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to bent knuckles, then shifts to brush his mouth across the thin skin on the inside of Stacker's wrist. There's a surge in his chest--a complicated mess of everything that has remained unspoken between them through the years--and the weight of it comes out in the low rasp of his voice. "I've missed you," he says, and means a million other things.

"I know," Stacker says, rising high on his knees. He hovers there for a heartbeat, consideration written on his face before he simply puts his mouth to Herc's and kisses him soft and slow. The kiss stays lazy but deepens in degrees until Herc is holding so hard to Stacker's fingers that his own have begun to ache and his mouth feels raw, his lips flushed. He untangles their hands, blood rushing back into his fingers with pins and needles, and he stands up, hauling Stacker with him.

On his knees for so long, Stacker half-stumbles, and Herc picks up the slack, holding him by the arms and barely pausing between a fresh onslaught of kisses. With reverence, he puts his mouth to the corner of Stacker’s, to the slope of his neck, moves to suck a kiss on his shoulder and to the hard line of his jaw, and Herc remembers what it was like back in the day when they'd drifted together in the simulators, their compatibility off the charts. Stacker had already been banned from the conn pod, but he could still test the new setups for the rigs, and for a heady two months it'd been like a drug, addictive and seductive as Herc shared himself so deeply with someone who was everything Scott hadn’t been.

He aches for that closeness now, to feel Stacker in his head, calm and solid, more real than the body in his arms. Pausing open-mouthed, and breathing in shallow gasps, Herc hooks his fingers into Stacker’s beltloops. “I’m losing it, here,” he says, and drags in a deep, steadying breath. Sometimes things were effortless when they got together, and other times the bubble that was just the two of them made everything outside the room seem that much more impossible--like they stood in the eye of a very large, vicious storm. “Give me a second.”

“Of course,” Stacker says, and it takes everything Herc’s got to look him in the eye again. Stacker meets his gaze with the seemingly effortless serenity that surrounds him in the Drift. The scales tilt and find balance; Stacker’s patient waiting brings Herc back to where he needs to be. There’s nothing left eating at the edges of the here and now. There’s only the thud of his heartbeat in his skull and a profound warmth in the space behind his ribs.

An inhale straightens Herc’s posture and Stacker responds instantly, his mouth softening even as his eyes remain alert. “Arms up, hands behind your head, I want to take a look at you,” Herc says. He braces his hands on Stacker’s waist to feel the stretch as Stacker complies, muscle going taut under his palms. Herc’s gaze traces the long line of his torso up to the notch of his throat, over his shoulder to follow the curve between deltoid and bicep, and back towards the loose curls under Stacker’s arm to end on the smooth sweep of his pecs drawn tight. With a groan spilling out of him, Herc traces the same path in reverse using the point of his tongue, starting at the center of Stacker’s chest, traveling across the hard point of his nipple and up. There’s hardly the taste of sweat on his tongue so he does it again, this time with the flat of his tongue, slick with spit that leaves a gleaming trail on heat-flushed skin. Stacker twitches when Herc’s tongue runs wet over his armpit, lingering there until the taste of Stacker’s body sticks to the back of his throat. 

He bites lightly at the edge of Stacker’s pecs, and his voice grates in his throat when he forces out a quiet: “Undress me.”

As if he’s been waiting for it and as if he belongs there, Stacker sinks back onto his knees. His mouth hovers temptingly close to Herc’s dick as he tugs Herc’s pants down all the way to the ankle. A light touch to the back of Herc’s knee asks without words for him to raise his foot so Stacker can strip him naked, and he stands there getting harder by the second as he watches Stacker fold the fabric into an impossibly tidy square. Before Stacker has to look to him for what comes next, he cups a hand to Stacker’s neck and pulls him forward onto his dick.

“Do you still want to walk out of here smelling like me?” Herc asks, as he lightly fucks Stacker’s mouth. Stacker’s lips are folded over his teeth, but everything is still loose and wet when the low hum of a very satisfied moan sinks into Herc’s skin. His hand tightens reflexively on Stacker’s neck and betrays the satisfaction purring in his own chest. He clears his throat, holding himself still and trying very hard not to push in deeper, watch more of his cock disappear between Stacker’s lips until his is the only breath sounding harsh in the quiet of the room. “If that’s a yes, I want to hear it.”

Stacker pulls off reluctantly, spit stringing from his lips to Herc’s dick until the quick flash of his tongue breaks it. “Yes.”

“Again,” Herc says, hips shifting forward so his cock smears wet across Stacker’s cheek. The scrape of stubble lights his dick up like a match, all heat and sizzling nerves. “Louder.”

“Yes,” Stacker says, louder and a little more desperate. His head twitches like it’s driving him crazy not to turn and catch Herc’s cock as it fucks against his cheek again, precome slicking where spit’s already dried.

“You don’t sound very convincing.” Herc takes hold of his cock to wave it right in Stacker’s face. He drags the head across Stacker’s mouth, gives it a few quick jerks and he can’t help but lick his lips knowing Stacker’s dying to do the same. His patience unravels like twine that’s already been split perilously thin. “But look at how good you are, waiting for it.”

The look in Stacker’s eyes flashes between contentment and lust and pride and lands somewhere west of devious. “I’ll wait as long as you make me, Hercules,” he murmurs, and the shapes his mouth make are a ruthless tease at the wet tip of Herc’s cock.

“Jesus,” Herc says, and while Stacker might very well be able to wait all night, he sure as hell can’t. He hauls Stacker forward by the hand on his neck, holds that clever mouth at his balls again, and says, “Suck ‘em good, there’s a nice load for you in there.”

He watches Stacker draw in a deep, shuddering breath, and then all that air is driven into an eager moan as he does as he’s told. His hands brace on Herc’s legs, his gaze flicking up before his eyes screw shut and he licks every inch of skin he can. Herc’s knees buckle--it’s hard to keep his strokes slow and even with the noises Stacker makes--and he curses as he takes his hand away from Stacker’s neck to cup his chin instead, thumb slipping past teeth to tell him to hold his mouth open if he wants some of it fresh on his tongue.

Stacker just closes his lips around Herc’s thumb though, sucks softly, breathing fast and shallow through his nose, and his body jolts more than Herc’s when the first shot of come hits him high on the cheek. Herc fucks it into his skin until his cock feels raw, then wipes up what’s dripping towards his jaw to smear that onto his neck and chin and chest. “Should’ve known you meant it when you said you wanted to walk out of here smelling like me. Well, I want to taste it on you in the morning,” Herc says, and he uses the thumb still hooked in Stacker’s mouth to drag him down from his knees to back on his heels. “C’mon now, on your back. I ain’t done yet.”

He follows Stacker down, replaces his thumb with his tongue for a slow kiss when Stacker’s spread out beneath him. “Didn’t think I was going to make you take care of yourself, now did you?” Herc says. If he’s a little rough when he tugs open Stacker’s pants, Stacker doesn’t seem to mind, and he’ll apologize for any loosened buttons or popped seams later.

Herc slides his hands down Stacker’s body and up again, pushes his elbows over his head and tongues his armpit until each breath tastes like Stacker’s sweat and Stacker is trembling with the effort of staying still. Herc’s limbs feel lazy and warm and satiated, but the edge riding Stacker keeps the spurs on him. He enjoys himself at Stacker’s chest unhurried though, using tongue and teeth until there’s a sound like a whine trying to be a growl when even the flat of his tongue drags across sensitive flesh or the raised line of scar tissue. “You just have to do one more thing for me, gorgeous,” Herc says. He settles kneeling beside Stacker, hardly noticing the chill and grit of the floor as he runs a hand along Stacker’s leg, petting lightly. “Just let me make you come.”

Stacker bites down on his lip and he twists like he’s trying to curl in on himself. It charms Herc thoroughly and he gives the meat of Stacker’s thigh a reassuring squeeze. With the focus turned around on him and only him, all that calm just shatters. He settles down a little when Herc puts a couple fingers back in his mouth. “That’s it,” Herc says, giving him a moment to find equilibrium before bending down and dropping a kiss low on Stacker’s belly. 

“I’m going to hold you down,” Herc tells him. He rests a hand lightly on Stacker’s hip and the other, slippery with spit, flattens out on his shoulder. Slowly, he adds pressure, forcing Stacker to lay still and endure the fresh heat of his gaze. Stacker’s hard as steel, the curve of his cock standing up well away from his belly and twitching to his pulse. The longer Herc looks at him, the more restless Stacker gets under his hands, the more each exhale carries a desperate, resonating groan. “So tired of waiting now, aren’t you? Good.”

Herc lifts his hands and blows a kiss when dark eyes blink open and focus on him, a question hanging there. Folding forward, he spits on Stacker’s cock, spreads the mess with a quick swipe of his tongue and catches Stacker’s hand. He pulls it to rest against the back of his skull, and Herc holds Stacker’s fingers in place with his own as he says, “Now fuck my mouth and don’t stop until you come.”

Stacker’s so primed it takes only a couple jerky upward thrusts of his hips before he doesn’t need Herc’s fingers over his to hold them in place. Herc moans, the whole of his body starting to tingle as Stacker’s cock fucks deep into his mouth. He nearly chokes more than once, and his knees scrape as he spreads them wider, gives Stacker a better angle to work with. He takes the first shot in the back of the throat, swallows reflexively before the rest of the flood coursing out onto his tongue fills his mouth and he’s given a chance to savor it.

A very satisfied sound hums in his chest as Herc picks himself up and just about collapses on top of Stacker. Where they aren’t skin to skin, the air suddenly feels cold. Herc considers saying something but all that comes out of him is another quiet moan.

“Don’t they feed you in Sydney?” Stacker says, his voice a rough whisper.

“Not like that they don’t.”

Herc can’t tell who’d started laughing first, but when he lifts his head, it’s nice to see such an easy smile on Stacker’s face. He stays close to Stacker a while longer until the scratchy feel of come drying on his chin forces him to grab up his tee and use it to wipe them both up. It’s a stretch to reach for his travel bag without actually leaving Stacker’s side, but he manages to snag it and drag it close. He fishes out an unlabeled bottle. “Brought you a gift. Straight from the guys in K-Sci back home.”

“What are the odds I’ll go blind if I drink it?”

“No worse than a shot of spunk in the eye. And you already risked that one,” Herc says, twisting off the top. He takes a swig and offers the bottle. “It’s good stuff.” 

Stacker levers himself up, draping an arm over Herc that’s comfortable and warm and solid. He takes the bottle, tips it back, and promptly chokes on the first mouthful. “You’re a dirty lying bastard,” he says, muffling a wheezing laugh against Herc’s shoulder.

Herc turns to brush a kiss against the corner of Stacker’s mouth. “Must be an acquired taste. Do you want to throw some clothes on and go get a proper drink? Or stay here a while longer?”

“How about you pack up your things and come back to my room. I’ve got a real bed and it’ll fit two just fine.”

“People are going to talk.”

Stacker winces as he takes another drink straight from the bottle. He pushes it back into Herc’s hands and shifts into sitting cross-legged, most of his weight staying leaned against Herc. “Do you honestly care?”

Herc’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Not really.”

“Then fuck ‘em,” Stacker says. After a long moment, he stands and proceeds to get dressed. “Besides, it’ll give the staff something other than the shutdown to gossip about.”

Herc smirks as he hauls his pants back on and straps himself back into his boots. He sidles close to Stacker, slipping hands under the leaves of his jacket before it’s all buttoned up nice and neat again. “So you’re saying that if I want to tie you to that bed of yours and have you to fuck me bowlegged before I ship out at 0900, it’ll be for overall morale.” 

“We all do what we must,” Stacker says, the corner of his mouth taut. More telling, the slant of his shoulders is still relaxed, his brow still smooth.

“Well then, glad to be of service,” Herc says, and gathers his things.


End file.
